


The Winter Maid

by margaerystark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post - Red Wedding, Robb survives the Red Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaerystark/pseuds/margaerystark
Summary: After feasting and music and fire and blood, the air in the Riverlands was finally quiet. It was then that Robb Stark was discovered.Alive.





	1. Capture

After feasting and music and fire and blood, the air in the Riverlands was finally quiet. The sun was beginning to rise, revealing a host of charred bodies strewn along the Green Fork.

Robb was found in the cleanup, his heart still beating, his lungs still breathing. 

_ “Fuck. When they say he couldn’t be killed, they meant it.” _

For whatever reason, the Freys chose not to put him out of his misery. They stripped him of his formal attire and threw him in one of their holding cells.

His life came and went in snippets after - in conversations between others and moments his mind chose to hold onto. 

From a younger Frey he learned that they had dressed Smalljon Umber in his clothing and sewn Grey Wind’s head to the other man’s body, claiming it was him. It a cruel and gruesome gesture, and the news of said gesture would be sure to spread like wildfire throughout the seven kingdoms. 

_ “The King in the North is dead, s’far as anyone else knows. And so are his little brothers and sisters. Winterfell belongs to the Boltons now.” _

They fed him very little, and sometimes they would beat him just for their own entertainment. 

He lost track of the days, weeks, months he was there. He had tried to count them at first, but oftentimes his head hurt too much to think, and he had no sun or moon to guide him.

One day, finally, he was dragged out of the dungeons and into the great hall. The castle was dingy and dark, but even the small amount of light its windows allowed nearly blinded him. Walder Frey’s gaunt fingers drummed on the arms of his chair. Robb thought that if he had the strength, he would have strangled him then and there. 

_ "Surely you’re not thinking of turning over our most precious prisoner to the boy king?”  _

_ “Heh, that depends on what he’s willing to offer me in return.” _

The Lord of the Crossing’s cackles echoed in his ears as he was taken from the Twins and thrown into a carriage, his feet and hands bound with chains, a kerchief tied around his eyes and cloth stuffed in his mouth. 

All he could do was listen to the drivers exchange words to keep himself from going mad, though there were times he wished he couldn’t hear them.

_ “Ser Prester sent word. Stupid Westerling girl tried to escape on the journey from Riverrun to the Crag. They slaughtered her where she stood. A death fit for a rebel queen.” _

That night he mourned his late wife, silent tears streaming down his face. He had barely known her, but there was a part of him that believed he truly did love her, and he wasn’t sure how many more losses he could take. His father, his brothers, his mother, Grey Wind, and now his wife… 

That night he wished Roose’s blade hadn’t just missed his heart.

He wasn’t sure how long they had been on the road when the carriage finally came to a stop. The journey felt relatively short compared to the moons when he had been locked up with no end to his torture in sight.

It was almost a blessing to be where he was now, a captive within the walls of the Great Sept of Baelor. The tower where he was kept was cold at night, but the breeze felt good on his skin. The windows were too high to see out of, but they offered him some much needed light once his eyes adjusted to the sun again. The floors were hard, but he had a woollen blanket to lay on instead of damp stone. He was given more to eat and wasn’t plagued by unwanted visitors. And the best addition to his new living quarters was the company he found in the form of Lady Margaery Tyrell who was being held in a cell adjacent to his.

The day she arrived had been one of the most joyful he’d had in some time. 

He had been sleeping that morning as there was little else to do to pass the hours, but the sound of approaching voices drew him out of his slumber.

“Just a few more hours now, daughter, and all will be right again.” The first voice was a man’s. He sounded older, distinguished, warm.

“I don’t know why I can’t wait with you and Grandmother in the Keep. They act as if I’m some sort of dangerous criminal… I had hoped to never see the inside of these cells again.” A woman. She was clearly irritated about her predicament.

Then came the screech of the cell door next to his. Through a small hole in the wall to his right, he could see a young woman dressed in plainclothes, though her hair was wound in tight ringlets and her face was clean. He yearned for a bath just looking at her, but he averted his gaze when he saw her glance his way.

“Who is that they’re keeping beside me?” he heard her whisper to the man who had escorted her, “He wasn’t here before…”

“King Tommen ordered the Freys to hand over their captives from the Red Wedding. You ought not concern yourself with such matters, sweetling. Steel yourself for the day ahead.”

“Of course, Father.” 

Robb could not hear anymore of their conversation as the woman lowered her voice, but the sound of fading footsteps followed soon after. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the woman addressed him through the gap in the wall.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you,” she said softly, “It’s just… you look remarkably like Lady Catelyn Stark.”

He felt his heart beat wildly in his chest at her words. The last time he’d seen his mother, she was pleading with him to run. He had never heard such anguish in her voice. And he was convinced now that she was dead. 

He was unsure how the woman recognized any sort of resemblance to his late mother through the dirt and grime that was caked on his skin, but he was grateful. 

“That’s probably because I’m her son,” he replied, his voice straining with effort. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in months.

The woman’s mouth fell ajar, her eyes transfixed on him. “The Young Wolf,” she breathed, “No, that’s impossible. You’re dead. There was a massacre…”

“They nearly did away with me, my lady. I almost bled out. And I’m certain I almost died several times more in the cells beneath the Twins, but… here I am.”

“It’s difficult to believe,” she said, her voice full of wonder, “I should not utter such words in a sept, but perhaps I ought to start praying to the old gods.”

He snorted. “It is not much of a life, my lady,” he countered quietly, “I’ve been a prisoner since Decembros, and I don’t even know what month it is or how old I am anymore.”

“When were you born?” she murmured, her tone more solemn.

“Septembros. 283.”

“It’s Novembros now… You’re ten and seven. As am I.”

He peered through the crack in the wall and saw the woman staring resolutely at the floor. 

He had a desperate, fleeting thought of wanting to hold her then; it had been so long since he’d last felt the touch of another, and he loathed the idea of her experiencing even a fraction of what he’d been through.

“What’s your name?” he asked feebly.

“Margaery Tyrell,” she answered, looking back up at him.

His eyes grew wide. So  _ that _ was how she knew his mother. It felt like another lifetime when he had sent Catelyn to negotiate with Renly Baratheon. “Why are you here?”

“I’m awaiting my trial. The queen regent accused me of high treason,” Margaery replied, her tone laced with mallace, “She said I took many lovers and was unfaithful to my husband, King Tommen.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The last time I saw Tommen, he was a boy of only seven. And now he is king.”

“He is like a younger brother to me,” Margaery admitted, “He is good and gentle, and even though we are seven years apart in age, and I must wait until he is ready to give me any children… I never brought any men to my bed. I’m not foolish enough to soil my reputation.”

“I believe you, your grace. You have many years ahead of you,” he said, forcing a smile, “I’m sure your trial will be swift and painless. I will pray for it to be so.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a grin grow at her lips. “You remind me of your sister, Sansa,” she told him, “Your heart is good. I am sorry for all that has happened to you. I hope you find peace.”

It was a kindness he had not been granted in nearly a year. 

“Thank you. I hope I am good company until you face the Faith.”

She giggled then, causing his breath to catch in his throat. “I’m sure I could spend more than a few hours talking with you, my lord.” 

Days passed and no one came for her. He did not wish for her continued suffering, but he felt glad that his companion had not left her post, as he would certainly miss their constant conversation. 

Her family members were permitted to visit her on occasion and bring her amenities that weren’t afforded to the other prisoners. He almost cried with joy when she requested that Garlan bring him a pitcher of hot water and a wash cloth so that he could clean his face. 

With each day she demanded to speak to someone who could explain why her trial was delayed. Her fury matched that of the women in the North; he had trouble believing she was a lady raised in the comfort and luxury of Highgarden, and he told her just as much.   

“They’re trying to wear on my spirit,” she remarked of her circumstances, giving a small, short laugh, “But my time at home has made me stronger. And the longer they postpone my trial, the more my family and the smallfolk grow restless.”

“What will you do once you’re free?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure. They’re to annul my marriage to King Tommen… he will marry a Frey. And who will want me after that? Three marriages ended in death and failure. I must be cursed.” 

He knew Tommen’s betrothal to a Frey had been a component in the crown’s negotiation with the Lord of the Crossing. He felt a small pang of guilt. Margaery would lose her husband and her title because of him. 

“I can scarcely believe Cersei let her only son be betrothed to one of Walder’s daughters… I don’t know what good I am to her or the small council anyhow.”

“They want the North, I’m certain. The Mormonts, the Umbers, the Glovers… They are allied with Stannis, but I hear tell they still fight in your name. If they know you’re alive, Robb… They might be willing to bend the knee if you’re safely surrendered over to them. Your life for their abdication and loyalty.”

She understood politics far better than he did. Or perchance he had simply failed to recognize what he meant to the banners that had sworn their loyalty to his house long ago.

“I’m but  _ one _ man…” His voice shook as he spoke, tears filling his eyes, “I’d rather die before that happens. My life isn’t worth all of that.”

“You’re a Stark. You were their king, their leader. You must have inspired devotion in them. If the council thought you were useless, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he furiously willed tears away. “What’s the point in my living? All of my family is dead save for the ones that are missing and most likely-”

“Sansa is alive,” she quickly interjected, and he could hear her shift in her cell, “Look at me, Robb.”

Through the crack in the stone he could see one of her eyes, wide and brown and unblinking. Her gaze was somehow soft and unnerving at the same time.

“She escaped with Petyr Baelish, and as slimy as that man may be, I have a feeling he will not let any harm befall her,” she told him, “Your sister loves you dearly. If you can’t fight for yourself, fight for her.”

He gave a small sob then, placing his face in his hands. On bad days he thought of Sansa’s sweet voice carrying throughout the corridors of Winterfell’s castle; he carried her songs with him wherever he went. 

“Thank you, Margaery,” he murmured, placing his fingers to the wall that separated them. 

The stone was almost frigid to the touch until she brought her own hand up and he felt a rush of warmth. He wished the hole in the wall was big enough so that he could reach through and offer his hand to hold, but this would do for now.


	2. Diplomacy

Margaery never thought she’d be so reluctant to leave the cold, damp cell that she had occupied not once but _twice_ before her trial. The day the septas came to escort her to the sept-proper was bittersweet; she desired her freedom, but with it came the loss of her steadfast companion.

She had been held for one whole moon with little by way of solace other than Robb’s sweet words and stories. He told her of his time growing up in Winterfell with his family, recounting moments that made them both laugh aloud.

She did her best to distract him as well, knowing that what he had endured at the hands of the Freys was far worse than what she could have imagined. They had more in common than she would have expected, and she appreciated that he loved and valued his family just as much as she did.

It was only towards the end of her imprisonment that he began to open up to her about the pain he had gone through… how he had lost his parents and brothers and wife and direwolf. She could scarcely believe he had the strength to keep on. She wished there wasn’t a wall between them so that she might be a better comfort; she wanted to take him in her arms and reassure him that he deserved so much more. Life had been unbearably cruel to him, and she hoped she could bring him at least a sliver of happiness. She had noticed that his spirits had lifted considerably since the day they first met.

She knew, however, that their time was running out. Her family was petitioning every day for her release. When she received word that she was meant to stand before the Faith in just a few days, there was no part of her that wanted to tell Robb.

They often ate their meals together, talking as they did their best to get down whatever mush they were served. It was always easier to pretend they were feasting on something delicious in each other’s good company.

“I hope Garlan sneaks us some apples in the morning,” Robb remarked with a small laugh, “Gods, you’d think I’d be used to this porridge by now, but it never tastes any better.”

“It’s true,” she agreed, “Though I’m not sure Garlan will be visiting tomorrow.”

He quirked an eyebrow, seemingly none-the-wiser. “Why’s that?”

“Father says they are finally going to hold my trial tomorrow,” she told him hesitantly, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Oh,” he said simply, his face falling, “I’m sorry... I ought not despair. I am glad you will be free, but I will miss your companionship.”

“I’ll miss you terribly. More than you can know,” she breathed, causing him to look at her with wide eyes.

She desperately clawed at the crack in the wall then, managing to break some of the stone. It crumbled away, and she reached forward, succeeding in fitting her fingers through the space she’d made.

Robb clasped hold of them tightly before slowly trailing his thumb over the back of her hand, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms.

“I promise you this won’t be the last time we see each other,” she murmured, “I promise you that you won’t have to stay here much longer.”

“Margaery, you can’t…”

“I _promise_ ,” she insisted, tears spilling forth from her eyes, “I am going to find a way to get you out of here.”

That night they fell asleep as they always did, pressed close to the sides of the wall where they were separated. In her heart she knew that she wasn’t just losing a close friend. She wouldn’t dare admit it out of both fear and apprehension, but she felt something more for Robb than just affection. She wanted to hold him close and press her lips to his and feel his skin against hers, but he had only just lost his wife, and she was certain the last thing on his mind was any sort of desire for her.

She listened to his slow, calm breathing for what felt like hours before she finally succumbed to sleep.

It took all her strength not to break down during her trial the next day. She was declared innocent after hours of deliberation and testimony, and shortly thereafter her marriage to Tommen was annulled. The poor little king was sobbing so much that he could barely sign the papers that were presented to him. Cersei nearly had to force his hand, staring daggers at Margaery all the while.

She kept her calm until she was in the carriage on her way back to Highgarden, nearly choking on her tears as she thought of what she had left behind in King’s Landing.

There was no time to waste when they arrived, so she wiped her tears and gathered her brothers and father, immediately planning their next steps.

The only two options seemed to be staying allegiant to King Tommen and following whatever orders he set, or joining Stannis in the North and becoming what many might consider turncloaks. It was really no choice at all when they considered how they had been slighted and disrespected by Cersei. And Margaery was unsure how she would fulfill her promise to Robb if their family didn’t change sides.

They stayed up through the night deliberating, at times getting so heated that they were shouting over one another. But in the end they came to an arrangement, deciding that they would meet with Stannis in secret and offer him their support.

They left on the morrow under the cover of darkness, taking only a small number of their troops with them so they would not look suspicious. Willas remained stationed in Highgarden to continue correspondence with the crown. It was a long journey, but they took the quickest route and only stopped for rest and food when it was necessary.

Just a moon and a few weeks later, they stood in front of the last remaining Baratheon brother. Their weapons were confiscated when they reached the Crofter’s village despite the fact that they were wildly outnumbered. Margaery had dark circles under her eyes and was far less put together than she wanted to be, but she felt slightly more confident when she saw all of the women in the longhall where they were received by Stannis.

Mace was the first to speak, presenting his terms and promising his loyalty. The revelation that Robb Stark was still alive and being held captive in King’s Landing was almost enough to overshadow their offer of fealty, but the Northern lords did not have the chance to interject.

“This is the third time the Tyrells have switched sides, no?” the red woman spoke, looking towards her king.

Stannis’s lips formed a tight line, his gaze firm. “How are we to know you won’t betray us like you did to the crown?”

“Forgive us, your grace,” Margaery implored, “My brother Loras was very fond of your brother Renly. And my lord father was very fond of the idea of grandchild of his sitting on the throne.”

“Margaery…” Mace hissed in warning, but she held up her hand to quiet him and shook her head. It would do them no good to be anything but honest.

“In my own conquest for the crown, I lost sight of what was just,” she continued, “I married three false kings. Tommen belongs to Robert no more than Joffrey did. You are the rightful heir. _You_ should wear the crown, not just because of your blood, but because you recognized what the rest of the kingdoms’ leaders have failed to. You are the only one that has concentrated their efforts on threats far greater than Cersei and her schemes. I know you have been to the Wall. I know you have the North and the south’s best interests at heart. You deserve the Reach’s allegiance and forces.”

She took to one knee then, bowing her head before Stannis and his company. The silence that followed her words was almost deafening, but then her brother and father dropped to the ground as well, followed by the rest of their troops.

“That was a very impassioned speech, m’lady, but it doesn’t prove that you won’t turn on us when it’s most convenient to you. And we still have no way of retrieving Robb Stark from the clutches of King’s Landing without laying siege to the city, if it’s even Robb at all.”

Magaery’s head shot up to see who had spoken - an older man with a silver fist emblazoned on his chest. House Glover.

“I saw him with my own two eyes. I was kept beside him in a tower in the Great Sept,” she said, “I promise you.”

“Cersei still has wildfire,” Garlan explained, “She will likely blow up the sept or kill Robb if we try to attack.”

“Gods damn that fucking wildfire! I’m not dealing with that shit again,” one man declared loudly.

“We can’t go up against that,” another agreed.

This sent murmurs throughout the crowd, the once-quiet group growing somewhat chaotic.

Maragery stood to her feet, wracking her brain for any kind of solution. They needed someone discreet and quick, someone who could get Robb out of the Keep without arousing suspicion.

"A faceless man," she said quietly at first as the idea came to her before speaking up, "Let us use our wealth to hire a faceless man."

The room went silent once more.

"The amount of coin that would cost..." The Glover man trailed off, shaking his head slightly.

"We have more than enough," she affirmed, "Robb's life is worth the coin."

There were several nods of agreement from the Northern troops at her statement, though Stannis still looked unconvinced.

"If you still question our motives, I have one more proposition that might put your worries to rest."

Stannis gave a single nod. "Go on."

She ran her tongue along the bottom of her teeth, taking a deep breath in. "An unbreakable union between the North and the Reach. If Robb will have me, I wish to become his wife."

Most of the Northern lords seemed shocked at her words, though she could see a few smiles among them.

"So it's true what they say about you, my lady? Thrice wedded, never bedded?" someone in the crowd queried.

Margaery loathed the expression, but she nodded anyhow. "I can assure you that won't be a problem this time around, my lords."

"I like this one. She has spirit," a woman with dark hair remarked. She wore leather armor with a bear stamped above her heart. House Mormont. Margaery couldn't help but give a small smile.

"So we hold until Lord Robb is delivered safely to us before we march on Winterfell," Stannis said, seemingly - finally - conceding, "I can't say I enjoy the idea of a waiting game."

"We can send a correspondent to Bravvos tonight," Margaery affirmed.

"In the meantime, we can start moving our troops here in small numbers so as not to attract any unwanted attention from the crown," Garlan said, "We have to make sure they still feel secure and believe that they have Highgarden’s unwavering support... Your grace, I'd like to speak with you and your council about our strategy in this upcoming battle."

"Of course, my lord,” Stannis concurred, “We can convene tonight after supper."

The tension in the air appeared to fade then, and everyone began to converse once more.

Mace stepped forward, letting out a long breath. "You did well, sweetling," he told her softly, "Though I’m not sure it was wise to pledge all of our coin to save one man’s life.”

“That man is my husband-to-be,” she countered, raising her eyebrows, “We don’t have the luxury of reservation when our own lives hang in the balance. We take Robb from the capitol, and we take away Cersei’s only form of leverage. And we give these men hope, a reason to fight.”

“Very well,” Mace muttered, “I pray to the gods that you’re right.”

“As do I,” she admitted in a whisper, “As do I.”


	3. Escape

Time passed slowly after Margaery left the sept. 

There were moments when Robb wished he could forget her entirely and others when he hoped the memory of her would never fade, as it was all that kept him going on some days. As the moons passed, he held onto the image of her in his mind - her soft, long curls, her big, brown eyes, her delicate, warm hands. He had nothing tangible to cling to; he did not even know the month or the time of day, and so Margaery’s smile and Sansa’s songs and his late mother and father’s words carried him through the pain.

He slept often. In his dreams he wasn’t alone. The nightmares that had plagued him in the dungeons of the Twins had been replaced with dreams of the youngest Tyrell. Sometimes they traversed the gardens of Highgarden and sailed on the Mander and ate plums plucked right off of the trees. Other times they sat under the weirwood in Winterfell and bathed in the hot springs and planted blue roses in the glass gardens. 

He was roused from a dream one night by the gentle motion of his shoulder being shaken. His eyes shot open and he immediately felt a hand over his mouth, silencing him. In the shadows he could barely see, but as his eyes adjusted, he recognized a hooded figure hovering above him. 

He didn’t have the strength to scream or fight, and the stranger seemed to realize that as well, slowly removing their hand. 

“Come,” they whispered simply. They gave a swift gesture with their pointer finger, indicating for him to follow. 

He sat up, looking towards the door of his cell hanging ajar. He had no idea what the intentions of the stranger were. For all he knew, they could be taking him from one prison and delivering him into the clutches of another, but they had not tried to hurt him yet, and he had nowhere to run. 

“Where…” he murmured, but they cut him off, pulling him to his feet. Once he was upright, he saw they were at least a head shorter than him but no less intimidating because of their small frame. 

All he could do was trail behind them as quietly as possible. The stranger seemed to make no sound at all, as silent as the shadows they cast on the sept’s stony floor. There were only a few instances when they paused to sneak past a heedless guard or a septa, but their exit was a hasty one. Before he could even contemplate his current situation, he was being ushered outside, breathing in the fresh air he had missed terribly while being locked away.

The hooded stranger led him down the stairs of the Great Sept and towards the gardens. He tried not to ruminate on the few crumpled bodies that they passed, their blood staining the white, marble stone. This was where his father was murdered, where it was considered a blasphemy against the gods to shed blood, and yet it seemed death could not escape this place. All the while, his feet threatened to give out from under him as he had hardly used them in the past year, but he pressed on. 

They left the shelter of the garden and entered an alleyway, and his stomach gave a lurch when he saw they weren’t alone. The figure that stood before them was a welcome sight, however, when his initial fear subsided and he got a better look at who was waiting for him at the end of the alley. 

“Margaery…” he breathed, running to her on unsteady legs.

She reached him first, throwing her arms around his neck and drawing him into an embrace. He wasn’t sure if there was a more wonderful feeling in the world than being held by her. His hands clung to the fabric at her back, tears streaming down his face as he took in her warm, flowery scent.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. She nestled against his chest, sending his heart racing. “I’ll never leave you again, I promise.”

He could scarcely believe she came back for him. He had learned to temper his expectations while he was locked away, never daring to get his hopes up as he didn’t have the will to go on when they were crushed. And yet here Margaery was, fulfilling the impossible promise she had made to free him from captivity. 

“Thank you,” was all he could hope to mutter.

She drew back only to wipe the tears from his cheeks, the gesture so tender and kind that he almost started to cry again. “We have to get out of here as quickly as possible,” she murmured, “I brought my brother Garlan with me and a few other men. If you have the strength, we’ll travel to the outskirts of the crownlands tonight and find an inn where you can get some rest.”

He nodded his head. Seeing her had granted him all the strength he needed for the time-being. 

Margaery stepped away from him for a moment to address the stranger who had led him to her. She pulled a lumpy, heavy pouch from her satchel, passing it over. “The rest of your payment,” she said, but the stranger shook their head, pulling back their hood.

“Arya?!” Robb choked out, recognizing her immediately. 

He hadn’t seen his youngest sister in years, but he knew her face - her dark Stark hair and grey eyes. He had assumed she was dead when Margaery informed him that she was no longer in King’s Landing, but she was truly there, standing in front of him, seemingly untouched by the war. He wasn’t sure how much more shock his heart could take. 

“Arya, as in…” Margaery placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“His sister,” Arya affirmed with a nod, “When I heard about the assignment of rescuing Robb from the Sept of Baelor, I knew I had to take it. The Faceless Men received the first portion of your coin, but I won’t deprive you of the rest… I do hope to come with you, however.”

Robb took in a great, shuddering breath before lurching forward to wrap Arya in a hug. His mind was spinning out of control with unanswered questions, but all he cared about at the moment was that his dear sister was alive and with him once more.

She returned his embrace, giving him a determined squeeze and then pulling back. “We need to get out of here, as Lady Margaery said,” she remarked with a small smile, “I’ll explain everything to you later.”

He found himself nodding again, almost smiling when Margaery took his hand in hers. “Garlan is just up ahead,” she told him, “We also brought a horse for you, but if you would rather share one with me so that Arya-”

“I’ll share with you,” he interrupted, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. He did not wish to be apart from his companion now that they were reunited, not even a horse's length apart.

She intertwined their fingers and guided him towards her brother and the small party waiting for them. He jumped up behind her after she mounted her horse, hesitantly slipping his arms around her waist. She didn’t seem to mind, even leaning into his touch.

All he could think about on their journey to the inn was how much love she had shown him, how she had hired a costly assassin to rescue him, how she was risking her life even now to get him to safety. He wasn’t sure what he had done to warrant such care and decency, but he knew that he would have done the same for her if their circumstances were reversed. 

After hours of riding, they finally stopped at the Havens House on the southern banks of the Gods Eye. Robb was incredibly grateful for the bath the innkeeper drew for him and the shears and blade she brought so that he could shave, though he was reluctant to be alone with his thoughts as he cleaned himself up. Even in the dim light, he could see the water quickly turn from clear to brown. He wondered briefly how Margaery tolerated being so close to him whilst he was as filthy as he was, but the thought left his mind when he heard a quiet knock at the door.

“One moment,” he called out, standing and wrapping himself in the robe that was hanging by the tub. He refused to redress in the rags he came in, hoping that someone at the inn could offer him some fresh clothing in the morning. “Come in,” he said, expecting one of the maids to check on his bath water or even Arya to bid him goodnight, but instead he found himself face to face with Margaery once more.

“I didn’t wish for you to be lonely,” she explained quietly, though he had not asked why she had entered his room.

He couldn’t help but give a small smile; it was like she could read his mind. He stepped forward, reaching for her hands. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done, Margaery,” he muttered, “I feel so fortunate that our paths crossed.”

She curled her fingers around his. “All I want is your happiness,” she replied, “You  _ deserve _ to be happy after all you’ve been through.” In that moment, she looked to be leaning in, as if to close the distance between them. He felt a small pang in his chest when he thought of the wife he had lost, however, fearful that his ever growing desire for Margaery was a betrayal of the vows he took with Jeyne. He shied away.

“I’m sorry,” Margaery breathed, breaking contact with him, “I won’t bother you if you wish to get some rest.”

She made to walk back towards the door, but he caught her hand again. “Stay,” he pleaded, “I’m just… I’m confused right now. I have a million thoughts running through my head. About Arya, about the war, about what’s to come... About you. But I  _ do  _ know that I want you to stay.”

She smiled then, moving to slip her arms around him. He returned her embrace and kissed the top of her head. “I care about you so much, Margaery,” he whispered, “I just need time to heal.” He wasn’t sure if he was making any sense, his head still spinning, but he prayed she would understand regardless. 

“Take all the time you need, my sweet Robb,” she murmured, causing his face to grow warm at the term of endearment, “I will wait for you.” 

He closed his eyes and drew her closer, trailing a hand through her soft curls. “You don’t mind spending the night?” he asked, “The last thing I want is to risk soiling your reputation…”

“I trust my men to keep a secret. Garlan might tease me something fierce for my being so enamored with you and never leaving your side, but he won’t tell a soul.”

“Enamored with…?” he pulled back to meet her gaze, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. “Why me, Margaery? You’re so caring and intelligent and… incredibly beautiful. I can’t be worth all the trouble you went through to get me out of King’s Landing.” He glanced down at the floor, his eyes filling with tears. “I’m broken... I’m not worthy of you. I’m just a shell of the man I used to-”

She swiftly cut him off, placing a gentle finger over his lips. “Robb Stark, you are the kindest, bravest, most handsome man I’ve ever met. You don’t know how much you mean to me,” she said firmly, though he could hear her voice waver somewhat. When he looked up again, he could see that there were tears in her eyes as well. 

“I know life has been cruel to you, but I hope to rectify that,” she continued, bringing her hand round to cup his cheek, “Will you let me try?”

He nodded, words lost on him for the time being. Margaery had seen him at his very worst and at his most vulnerable, on days when he barely had the will to wake up, and she wanted to be with him anyhow. 

There were moments while he was imprisoned when he imagined what life would be like if he was ever released. He thought of how Jeyne would receive him and worried that she would grow to resent the man he had become. In the short time they had spent together, she had shown herself to be too sweet to ever complain about their circumstances even though he’d dragged her from place to place through the rain and the cold. But he could feel the tension between them without her ever having to say anything, especially when they retired to their marital bed at the end of each day and felt the ever-mounting pressure to produce an heir. 

He often wondered what their relationship would have been like had they met on different terms. Perhaps when they were younger, when there was no war… They might have married after moons of getting to know one another, building a lasting love as his parents did. They might have shared sweet kisses in the godswood and simply left things at that.

His thoughts on the manner were only speculative, however. He knew enough of Jeyne to believe that she would not want him to wallow in misery without her, just as he would expect her to move on and find happiness without him. 

“We should try to get some sleep,” Margaery suggested quietly.

He took her hand again, leading her towards the bed. “Would you like the side near the window or the side closest to the door?”

She gave a small giggle, her spirits brightening considerably. A smile grew on his face as well. “What do  _ you  _ want?” she asked, “I wish for you to voice your desires.”

His face flushed red. No one had ever extended him such a choice. “I want to be close to you,” he admitted.

She smiled wider. “Let me just…” She moved to unfasten the front of her dress and gracefully remove it from her shoulders so that she was left in only her smallclothes. He swallowed the lump in his throat when she crawled into bed and pulled him towards her.

He drew the furs up to cover them both and curled up next to her, his heart skipping a beat when she slid her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. 

“Is this alright?” she queried. 

“Perfect,” he whispered in reply, “Goodnight, Margaery.”

“Goodnight, Robb.”

* * *

The next few nights held more of the same. They slept at inns spotted along the road or set up camp when they feared that someone could track their path, though they always gave false names and stayed away from the Kingsroad. 

Arya had not yet explained how she had come to be a part of the Faceless Men, nor had Robb asked. He was still trying to process his newfound freedom and what it meant for the North as well as himself. 

Stannis’s forces and the Northern troops planned on taking Winterfell from the Boltons once he was returned to them, but he was unsure if he had any thirst for battle left in him. Each day brought them closer to the castle where he had grown up, and the smaller the distance between him and Winterfell, the more he was filled with dread.

When they reached an inn outside of Barrowtown, he was faced with yet another reality. In his and Margaery’s room was a slim, floor length mirror, and for the first time since the day he’d been captured by the Freys, he was confronted with the image of his full body.

He looked thinner… older. His red curls were flecked with grey, and his skin was pale white instead of pink. His reflection was both a stranger and a friend. 

“I am going to feed you so well,” Margaery spoke up, as if she could read his thoughts from across the room, “No more porridge and shriveled plums. I promise you’ll never have to eat them again if you don’t want.” 

She smiled warmly, making her way over to him and slipping her arms around his waist.

He smiled in return. She made him feel wanted in spite of his own thoughts. “Thank the gods,” he teased, raising his eyebrows, “Do you know what sounds amazing right now? Honeyed ham. And roasted carrots. And spiced ale.”

She giggled, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. “Then you shall have it.” 

He turned towards her then, taking her face in his hands and leaning in to press his lips to hers. 

There were some aspects of the future that he loathed to think about, but Margaery was not one of them. She had not left his side since the night they’d left King’s Landing, unwavering in her words of affirmation and support. Though they had shared a bed on their journey, he had not yet kissed her, ever fearful of letting his emotions take him over as they once had with Jeyne. 

He was not afraid now, however. All he felt with Margaery was security and safety, as well as love he could not put into words. 

She hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him in return, sending desire coursing through his veins. 

“I’ve changed my mind. All I want is you right now,” he muttered against her lips.

“Then you shall have me,” she jested, brushing her nose against his.    
  



End file.
